Once, We Were
by ontheinside
Summary: A year ago Virgil stopped talking to Zeke, and started hating him instead. When Charlie invites Zeke to Virgil's birthday party, Zeke is forced to face it, to remember why he lost the best friend he ever had. Zeke/OFC  for now .
1. Chapter 1

**Once, We Were.**

**Part One.**

_There's a Hole In Our History [An Empty Place In My Heart]_

Just before Charlie calls, Zeke's having that dream again.

The Vortex is spinning, big and bright and loud and he has his back to it, his hand out to Virgil. "Dude, come on, just jump," he yells. "Go back with me." He keeps shouting, pleading until he's almost sick with it. Virgil doesn't move. He just opens his mouth to talk, but the voice that calls out isn't his own.

_You've got Zeke, leave a message._

/Zeke? Hi, it's Charlie. I was hoping to talk to you in person but, well, this will have to do. I'm just calling to let you know that Virgil's having a birthday party next Saturday. I mean, I know you haven't seen him since … I don't know, the last birthday party, maybe, but I thought you might like to come and let us know how you're doing. I – we - everyone misses you, and we really, really hope you can make it. It's at 8 o'clock, at Virgil's parents' house. Okay? Okay, so. Bye. Bye, Zeke./

Zeke slowly unclenches his anxious, angry fists, before rolling over and burying his head under his pillow.

…

When people ask him what happened, he's always ready with an excuse. We were too different. We grew apart. We had no time to hang out. My dog ate Charlie's homework. It was all a hoax. I have a contagious disease so you should move away.

He never tells people the truth. He never says, Virgil hates me, because then they'd ask Why? and then Zeke would have to stop and think about it.

…

Zeke lives in a cheap little flat behind his parents' house. A place to eat, sleep, crap and clean, and a little TV for his DVDs. The fridge hums, and the walls shake when the washer's on, but it's enough. Zeke's always been happy with what he needs. The things he wants are too much trouble.

After Summerton, he went to work in the Cycle Cemetery. It was supposed to be for a little while, until he could decide what he wanted to do, but that was nearly three years ago and the only decisions he could make these days were, Captain Crunch or Froot Loops? Motorbike or car?

On Saturday night, Zeke walks to Virgil's place. Charlie had left ten more messages, had all but bribed Zeke into going to this party. It's important, he kept saying, it's important. The last thing Virgil had said to Zeke was, 'stay away from me'. _That's_ what's important and he's doing the wrong thing here, but that's Zeke. That's Zeke, when it comes to Virgil.

At the Fox's, Zeke circles the block eight times, before going in.

There are people everywhere, just as he'd expected. The noise is so loud it feels like he could swallow it. He pushes through with hands and elbows and hips, hunched and keeping his head down. In the corner of the living room, a little pile of presents sits and waits. Zeke pulls the small parcel from his jacket pocket, wrapped in newspaper and tied with a thin, leather band. He fiddles with it for a moment, questions his intention with shaking hands, but decides to drop it quickly and turn back.

"Zeke!" It's Charlie. He's still short, and that big, happy grin still compensates. "You made it!"

"I guess so."

"You got taller. Did you? It looks like it. How are you? What have you been up to? Wow. It feels like I haven't seen you in years. Just the other day I said to Virgil – Virgil! Of course, you want to see Virgil. Wait here and I'll go and get him for you."

Once Charlie's out of eyesight, Zeke heads for the door.

There's too much here. He can't breathe.

…

On Tuesday and Friday nights, Zeke goes down to the local Community House and plays Chess. It's mostly old guys with their trousers up under their armpits, but some other people go too. Younger people. It's where he met Rachel, three months ago. The latest girl in a string of going-nowhere girls.

"Where were you on Saturday?" she asks one night, back at Zeke's place. She's twisted n the bed sheets and he's making coffee in his briefs. It _looks_ settled, serious, but it doesn't feel that way. Zeke lies easy.

"I went out, with Paul and Brad and them."

Rachel's a nice girl. A nurse-in-training, with good hair and a great ass. Zeke should like her more than he does, and she definitely deserves better, but. This is all he's got right now – a night here and there, lunch once in a while – and she knows it, and she stays. That's her choice.

"That's funny. I spoke to Paul and he said he hadn't seen you."

Zeke walks back into the room, hands her coffee with a shrug. "Yeah, well."

"Is there something I should know?"

"No." Rachel throws him a look of disbelief. He's not sure that he's lying when he says, "Really. It's nothing."

…

_You've got Zeke, leave a message._

/Zeke, it's Charlie. I just wanted to check you're okay. I couldn't find you at the party, and someone said they saw you leave in a hurry, so I thought I'd better check. I mean, not like a parent but just as a friend. I mean, not that I can assume you're my friend, I haven't spoken to you in such a long time and I know, well I think that you're busy, but I hope that you could maybe find time to catch up with us. It's about time, don't you think? Call me back, okay? Bye./

…

They haven't seen each other for 351 days, when Virgil walks into the Cycle Cemetery that Saturday.

He's striding, really, hard and fast, and there's determination etched deep in his expression. From this distance, Zeke can see how much he's changed. He's bulked up, the lines of his biceps peeking out from the bottom of his sleeves. His hair's a little longer with a new curl to it; while his skin is a shade darker and freckling. Piece by piece he's become less and less like the Virgil Zeke knew.

"What the hell is this?" he yells when he nears, before hurling something at Zeke which Zeke catches with one hand. It's the present he had left, still wrapped but imperfect. Zeke just curls his fist around it tightly, and turns his head.

"What are you doing, Zeke?"

"I'm trying to work," Zeke says, his jaw clenched so hard it hurts.

"What are you doing in my life?"

"I'm not. Charlie invited me."

"Charlie?" Virgil laughs like it's the least funny thing he's ever heard. "You mean _my_ best friend? Who, by the way, won't shut up about you, and won't listen to me when I tell him I don't want to see you. Who keeps saying that the three of us should catch up, like old times, even though every time he calls you, you ignore him. You mean _that_ Charlie?"

Zeke looks up at him, though he can barely stand it. "Virg, I - "

"No. Don't say – don't _anything_. I thought I told you. I thought I was clear, last time."

"Oh, yeah. Crystal clear. I carried a black eye around for weeks."

"What? Am I supposed to feel bad?"

"You're supposed to …" Zeke stops. He'd spent months imagining what Virgil might have done - could have, should have, would have - if things had been different. But they weren't different, and they couldn't change that, and they'd made a choice, a long time ago, that it wasn't their right to change _anything_.

"What, Zeke? Tell me."

"I'm not in your life, Virg," Zeke says, ignoring the way Virgil flinches at the epithet. "I just used to be, that's all."

Zeke tries to hand him back the present but Virgil puts his hands in the air, no. "I only want one thing from you."

"What?"

"I want you to go and see Charlie. Tell him whatever you want, but make him understand. I don't want any part of it. Okay?"

Zeke just watches, helpless, as Virgil leaves. Again.

…

On Prom Night, they snuck out to the football field with Charlie's home-made fire crackers and a cheap bottle of wine. Zeke can't remember how long they were out there, but it felt like full, endless hours. Just the hoot and whistle of their voices, the rough and tumble of their play.

It was their farewell to Summerton, homage to the minutemen. It was never a farewell to their friendship. They hadn't had that yet, not really.

…

Zeke doesn't remember the first day of High School. At least, he doesn't remember seeing Virgil and Charlie hanging off the ram. The first time he bothered to notice them – for real – was the same day they met. Two little nerds peering at him cautiously.

Virgil had always been thankful for that. Zeke had always been sorry he'd spent the first two years of High School, alone at the back of Geometry instead of having spit ball competitions with Virgil and trading magazines with Charlie.

In the end, Zeke does what Virgil asked – just like old times – and finally calls Charlie back. They buy doughnuts and coffee and sit on an old park bench, while Charlie gives Zeke a day by day briefing on Life Since He Was Gone. After one too many, 'Virgil can explain that one later's, Zeke cuts in.

"Charlie, there's something I haven't told you."

Charlie swallows his mouthful so fast it looks painful. "Oh. No. You're not dying are you?"

"Uh, no. I mean, not any faster than your average person."

"Thank God. The look on your face was like, Terminal Illness."

Zeke can't help but smirk. "It's safe to say you're still the weirdest person I know."

"I'll take that as a compliment. So? What aren't you telling me?"

Zeke falters. The truth is, the truth has only ever been, Charlie will always pick Virgil. He will call Zeke, he will text and fax and e-mail and smoke signal Zeke until he's blue in the face but he will always pick Virgil. Zeke understands that, but he doesn't feel good about it. He doesn't feel good about losing Charlie again.

"It's Virgil," Zeke finally manages to say, staring at his hands. "And me. We don't talk. We're not talking."

"Since when?"

"Since, a long time ago. We had a fight and now we don't talk."

To his credit, Charlie doesn't scoff or laugh or tell Zeke the figures don't compute. His voice stays level. "Why? What did you fight about?"

"Just … some stuff happened that we couldn't agree on and we couldn't be friends any more. I should have stayed in touch with you though."

"Why are you being so evasive?"

Zeke sighs, finally finding the courage – or accepting defeat– and looking Charlie in the eye. He respects him too much to lie.

"Well, because I don't want to talk about it. I just want you to stop worrying about me and Virgil hanging out. It's not gonna happen."

"Zeke - "

"Charlie, don't start this okay? This isn't a Science Project. You don't have the answer to this."

…

Zeke doesn't do much. There's Chess, and bikes, beer with his friends and nights in with Rachel, but that's basically it. It's funny, in a way, how he's the same guy he was before everything went bad. How his life has sort of looped in on itself.

"There was a card by the door," is the first thing Rachel says when Zeke gets home one night. She has a key he never offered her, but he likes the way she takes what she wants without asking. Zeke could learn a lot from her. "I hope you don't mind that I read it."

Zeke shrugs and heads for the kettle. "What kind of card?"

"Just a plain white one. It has a time and a date and it's signed _Charlie_."

"Oh. Okay."

Rachel comes to stand beside him, the small of her back rested against the counter and her arms folded. She says, "Who's Charlie?" as if she doesn't care, but Zeke knows her better than that.

"Just an old friend."

"An old girlfriend?"

"No. He's a he." Even if Zeke had told him differently, from time to time.

"You don't talk about your friends much."

"There's not a lot to tell."

"What about this Charlie? Where's he from?"

The kettle whistles, and Zeke pulls two cups from the cabinet. "High School," he answers quickly, and, "Can we please stop talking about this?"

"I'm just trying to get to know you better," Rachel mutters under her breath, her arms folding tighter. She tries to hide her face behind the long drape of her hair, but Zeke reaches out and brushes it away.

"Okay. Sorry. Just … ask a different question."

…

It was less than a month after graduation when Zeke took a ride in the back of a police car. It was the first and last time, and the cops had gone easy on him, but he'd always wear it like a brand. It would never be okay. When they told him to call home, he dialled Virgil's number without thinking, and Virgil got across town quicker than Zeke thought possible.

They didn't talk until Virgil pulled into Zeke's driveway, asking, "What happened, man?"

"I tried to steal some bourbon," he had said, quickly, because he'd been expecting the question. Virgil didn't ask why. Zeke didn't say, _because you're at college, because Charlie's going to be rich, because dad keeps telling me I could do more_.

Virgil didn't ask anything. He just said, "You should've called me _before_ you did that."

…

The card is addressed to Charlie's house. The same house they almost burnt down making pancakes. The same house the cops raided after reports there'd been gun fire [it had been one of Charlie's experiments]. The same house that had hosted movie marathons and Nintendo battles and so much pizza they made friends with the delivery guy.

When Charlie swings the door open, grinning, it's almost like Zeke never left.

"You _actually_ came."

"I know you like surprises."

"Well, come in. You know how it goes, leave your shoes, your jacket and - "

"- my miseries by the door," Zeke finishes with a grin.

"That's right. You're in my house now." Charlie pulls Zeke in for a swift and manly hug, a heavy and trying-too-hard pat on his back. "Come on, let's go downstairs."

Zeke follows Charlie down the old, winding staircase, and it hits him, a swift, curving bullet. That smell, that one creaking step, those initials carved into the banister with Virgil's Swiss Army Knife. It's like stepping back in time, [even if he'd sworn never to do it again]. It's almost addictive.

The first thing he sees as he leaves the bottom stair is Virgil. Virgil leaps off the sofa so quick he almost falls over.

"What's going on?" he shouts, red in the face and snarling.

"I told him," Zeke protests, turning to Charlie. "I told you."

"You didn't tell me anything."

"I can't believe this." Virgil tries to leave but Charlie stands in front of him. He's a whole head shorter, but his hand is firm and his expression means business.

"Virgil, no. You are not walking out on this."

Zeke steps back. "I'm going anyway."

"You are not." Charlie points a finger at Zeke, his arms out between them both like a goalkeeper trying to save something. "You're both going to sit down and tell me what's going on."

"What is this, Charlie?" Virgil says, mocking. "An _intervention_?"

"Yes," he replies, without a hint of embarrassment. "That's exactly what this is. I mean, what happened? You two were inseparable. You were always going off without me - "

"That's a stretch - "

"You were always talking about stuff I didn't understand, and keeping things from me to protect me. But that was fine. I knew you did it because you were my friends and you wanted the best for me."

Zeke rubs a weary hand over his face. Just standing here, these few feet from Virgil and all of Virgil's loathing; knowing he, Zeke, is the only person who has ever made Virgil feel this way. It's exhausting, he can feel his body – the deepest parts – start to unwind. "Charlie - "

"Well in case you missed it, guys, this isn't what's best for anyone! Ever since Zeke's been gone, Virgil, you've done nothing but whine."

"I don't - "

"Zeke?" Charlie adds, before Virgil can finish. "What about you?"

"Charlie, stop it," Zeke's starting to get angry now. "I told you, you can't fix it."

"I'm not trying to fix it. I'm trying to make _you_ fix it. _Both_ of you."

There's a pause. A shuffle of feet and a clearing of throats before Virgil says, plainly, "No."

"Why? What is so bad that you can't get past it?"

Again, quiet. Zeke can hear his heart thumping; he can feel it hard against his throat. Virgil will tell. It won't be spiteful, and he won't be trying to get Charlie on side. He just wants this to be over. He wants Zeke to be gone. He will tell.

"You know how I broke up with Steph because she kissed another guy?"

Charlie glances quickly between them, not catching on. "Yeah?"

"The other guy was Zeke."

…

**AN:** Despite how Minutemen ages – not to mention how I age – I can't stop loving this trio and their story. There will be more, of course, but thanks for reading this part, it's nice to know I'm not alone in my affections.


	2. Chapter 2

**Once, We Were.**

**Chapter Two.**

_I Keep Trying To Do The Math, Keep Getting You [And Me]._

Stephanie was never Zeke's type.

He didn't see her like Virgil did. He didn't see the childhood dream; the fresh faced girl with pigtails and big plans. He saw a cheerleader who complained about popularity, but wouldn't give it up. He saw the one person who stood between Virgil and his self-esteem for the better part of three years. He didn't like her. He resented her.

And he'd always hate himself for kissing her.

**.**

_This is Charlie Tuttle. I'm unavailable, but if you leave all the necessary information I will be with you at a more suitable time. Thanks! _

/It's Zeke. Again. Would you stop screening my calls?/

_This is Charlie Tuttle. I'm unavailable, but if you leave all the necessary information I will be with you at a more suitable time. Thanks! _

/Charlie, come on. This isn't fair./

_This is Charlie Tuttle. I'm unavailable, but if you leave all the necessary information I will be with you at a more suitable time. Thanks! _

/You have to talk to me, I have to explain./

**.**

The Cold War carries on for the better part of two weeks. Zeke would usually be impressed with Charlie's willpower; he was always lousy at holding grudges. Even this past year, with Virgil out of the picture, Charlie was still sending e-mails and cards, and leaving messages when Zeke ignored his calls.

"Alright, I have a hypothetical for you," Zeke says, sitting at Paul's place playing Halo on his oversized and overpriced flat screen TV. Paul huffs out a laugh.

"Will it hurt?"

"I guess time'll tell."

"Shoot."

Zeke keeps his eyes trained on the game. He's known Paul for a while now, but they've never talked about anything that involved … emotions. "Just say you had this girlfriend. This girlfriend that you've wanted for a really long time, since you were a kid, even, and. You get this girlfriend. You're really happy with her, things are great, life is wonderful with your girlfriend."

"Okay, so remind me," Paul says passively, dropping the remote in defeat. "Did you say I have a girlfriend?"

"Anyway," Zeke says in a low tone, forcing back a smirk. "Anyway, you've also got a best friend. You've always been good to this friend. He probably owes you a lot. Except, one day, your girlfriend comes to you crying and she says, I'm sorry, your best friend kissed me and I kissed him back and I'm really sorry and can you ever forgive me and, so on and so on."

Paul's quiet from his place on the couch. Zeke gathers enough courage to look over and see that Paul's mouth has fallen open a little. "What?"

"Well, what do you do?"

"Zeke, what the hell?"

"I just – I don't know what I'd do and I thought -"

Paul clasps a worried hand around Zeke's shoulder and gives it a shake. "Is this about Rachel?"

"What? No. Rachel's not my girlfriend. It's hypothetical."

There's a muffled scoff. "That was as hypothetical as Monica Lewinski."

"Just tell me what you'd do!" There's quiet again, as Zeke's high, desperate voice bounces around the room. Suddenly, [and Paul must realise, surely] this isn't a time for their joking.

"I don't know," he answers slowly. "I'd probably find a new girlfriend."

Virgil had said goodbye to Stephanie, but whether he'd bothered to move on Zeke wasn't sure. It had been a long time since he was sure of anything.

"What about your friend? What would you do about him?"

Paul is still sceptical, by the look on his face, but he also remains serious. Honest. "I'd probably hate him forever."

**.**

On the weekend, with Paul's confession still ringing in his ears, Zeke buys a bottle of bourbon and gets drunk. There's no party, no friends, and Rachel's not coming over so it's probably one of his uglier, more pathetic displays. The only thing he takes any comfort in, is that he doesn't stumble over to Charlie's house that night.

He waits until he's hung over, with a ferocious, hurricane headache.

"Charlie!" It's not long after 8, on a Sunday morning, and Charlie still lives at home, but Zeke pounds on his door, anyway. By the time anybody answers it, Zeke's hand is red and sore and cramped up into a fist.

"You're insane," Charlie tells him logically, despite his E-MC² pajamas and bed hair. It's apparently too early to fight, because Charlie doesn't wait for Zeke to beg to come in, and leads him through to the kitchen.

"You're lucky my parents were away for the night," he groans, rifling through the fridge.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't sit at home pressing 'redial' any more."

Charlie emerges with OJ and a twisted, angry brow. "Gee, Zeke, life must be so hard for you."

"Okay, so you're still pissed at me. I'm glad we got that cleared up."

"You're wasting your time." Virgil's voice shoots through from the hallway and Zeke spins, shoving his back against the wall. He must look like a cornered animal.

"I didn't know you'd be here."

"Well, I am, and Charlie knows the whole story so there's no point coming in here smelling like booze and trying to win the fight."

Zeke feels the blush in his cheeks. Virgil's on the other side of the room, and still he can smell him. Virgil's always known Zeke's penchant for alcohol, of course. He's always hated it. Zeke shouldn't have come, but he's here and he's not going to run and hide anymore. He spent a year too long doing that.

"If you're going to tell him the whole story, then tell the _whole story_," Zeke says quietly, throwing a glance to Charlie. He doesn't look angry any more. Just confused. Curious. "Not just the parts that suit you."

Virgil folds his arms. His lips and shoulders and chest visibly tighten as he says, "It's the parts that _matter_," in a clipped voice. The tension's suddenly so thick Zeke can hardly breathe. Here it comes, like a freight train: big, furious truths that Virgil managed to dodge last time.

Zeke will tie him to the track if he has to. He's going to say it.

"To you, maybe, but not to me."

Charlie obviously senses the shift, trying hard to keep his tone impartial. "Guys. What's going on?"

"About a month before the party - "

"You mean the night you _kissed my girlfriend_?" Virgil yells, panicky. "Is that the party you mean? I'm just not sure. There were so many parties I don't want to get them confused. It was the one where you kissed my girlfriend, right?"

"Virgil,_ please_. Let Zeke finish."

If anyone other than Charlie had asked, Virgil would have kept on yelling. Instead he ducks his head, hiding his face in the morning shadow. Zeke looks away from him, hands shaking.

"I was at Virgil's house and I told him something that he didn't want to hear."

"What?" Charlie's voice is breathy and impatient. "What did you say?"

"I said …" 1, 2, 3, _say it_. "I told him I was in love with him."

There's a loud, crashing silence that seems to stretch on forever. Zeke can only look at his shoes and gnaw on his bottom lip and wait for something to happen. It does. Virgil swears under his breath and thunders out with a slam of the back door.

Zeke looks up at Charlie, to see that Charlie is staring at him like a new equation he has found. "You told him you loved him?" he says in a meek, little voice. It doesn't sound like he's upset, or disgusted. Surprised, definitely, and more than a little bewildered.

"Yeah. I told him, and I kissed him, and - "

"_You kissed him_?!" This time Charlie's voice is an octave higher, and he clamps a hand over his mouth to cage it in. Zeke nods, moving to rest his elbows on the bench, and bury his head in his hands. It's all coming back now, in waves, in ways that he wouldn't let it before.

"He said that he was flattered, but he wasn't interested and that was it."

"Well …" Charlie moves in close and lowers his voice again. "What's that got to do with kissing Stephanie?"

Zeke is running on empty now. He'd gotten this far, he'd push as far as he could go. "At first he was fine but then he started avoiding me," he explains to Charlie, who is wide eyed and attentive. Zeke wishes it was an hour after the kiss, a day or a week even. He wishes he'd trusted Charlie with it, had given Charlie the chance to help him through it. "He wouldn't look at me, and soon he wouldn't talk to me. I tried to get to him, to tell him not to worry; that I wouldn't tell any one or try anything but he just got worse. He started talking crap, and pushing me around, just to make me go away."

"Why didn't I see this?" Charlie sounds disappointed. The problem he knew was there, but couldn't see. It really was unfixable, just like Zeke had said.

"He didn't want you to see."

"So you kissed Stephanie, for what? Revenge?"

"No." Zeke looks up, meeting Charlie's sad gaze. "I kissed her because I knew he couldn't ignore it."

**.**

They had been out on the front porch, lounged in the swing, chatting, laughing, waiting for Virgil's mom to remind Zeke it was a school night and he should be getting home. Virgil was grinning about something- Zeke can't remember what, now – and it was so big and bright and disarming that Zeke said the words before he even had time to think them.

_I love you_. It was so incredibly stupid that he felt like he should clean up, rewind, but it just kept coming out, _I'm sorry dude, it's true, I don't know what to do about it_, and kept coming until the only thing he could think to do was stopper it by leaning in and pressing his mouth to Virgil's.

There were five slow, hesitant seconds where Zeke thought it was going to work. Virgil was going to open his mouth and let him.

That was all he'd been left with. Five seconds.

**.**

The only thing Zeke can think to do is become buried in his work. Every motorbike, bicycle, spare part and tyre that rattles through, Zeke has his hands on it before his dad can protest. He tells another lie – mounds and mounds of lies, no point stopping now – about saving, and travelling, and having a life plan. It's something every parent loves to hear.

Besides, it's not completely dishonest. Escaping would probably be the best thing for everyone.

"What's going on with you?" Rachel snaps one night, after coming over and finding Zeke's not in the mood for her – again. She's sprawled out on the bed, half naked, and he can't lie with her, be near her, be satisfied.

"I'm just, stressed, with work and stuff," he mumbles, walking aimlessly around, pretending to tidy. She pushes her body against him, slides her hands across him, presses her mouth to his skin, and he aches, and aches, and can't find the wound to heal it.

"You're the one who has taken on extra work, Zeke, you didn't have to."

"I didn't have to? Jesus, Rach, do you think I want to live here forever?"

Rachel gets up from the bed, and starts pulling on some pants. "I don't know, you never tell me anything."

"Well I don't," Zeke barks, dropping whatever he had picked up back onto the floor. "I don't want to be here and I don't want to feel like this and I don't know what else to do about it."

"Zeke."

"I'm in love, Rach. There's someone else, there's _always been_ someone else." They'd had that talk, briefly, no details. "And up until now it's been cool, I've dealt with it, but I'm struggling right now, and you gotta let me struggle. I can't be your boyfriend. I can't be your responsibility."

"I know, I just - " her voice trails off but Zeke can hear what she meant to say. _I hoped it would be different._

She goes to him, where he's slouched in an armchair, and crawls up onto his lap. Zeke closes his eyes, feeling the brush of her cheek on his neck. His hands claw at the sofa. "Have you had enough of me?" she asks quietly.

"No," he tells her, and doesn't add, _I've had enough of me_.

Instead, he takes her back to bed.

**.**

Charlie waits another week before calling, before coercing Zeke into coffee and pie. Back when things were normal, when they spent every other hour of the day together, they ate a lot of pie. Charlie went through a Scientific Chef phase, inventing so many recipes, so extreme, that they started to become inedible. Zeke could fill books upon books with all the stupid things they did, all the time they wasted, but he could never explain how good it was.

"You can talk to me about Virgil, you know," Charlie tells him, as their conversation hits a lull. "It doesn't bother me, that you're gay, I hope you didn't think - "

"I'm not gay," Zeke tells him, crossing his arms. "I'm in love with Virgil. It's not the same."

"You're still …?"

Zeke leans his elbows against the table, crowding in close, asking, quietly, "How is he? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, I guess," Charlie takes a long, noisy slurp of shake from his straw. He's still like an overgrown kid, so smart and yet so innocent. Big, hopeful eyes. Zeke shouldn't have brought him into this. It's not fair. "He's just … quiet."

"Quiet? Quiet how?"

"He keeps to himself mostly. He studies, plays some sport, stays over sometimes. His life is just … quiet."

"But he's happy?" Zeke asks, and he knows how it sounds, he knows Charlie can hear the desperation in his voice. If he can't have Virgil then maybe he can have that.

"Zeke, can you tell me," Charlie seems to squirm in his seat, like he has an upset stomach, or a burning in his chest. "Tell me why you had to kiss him?"

"Charlie,"

"No, really, I just mean. Everything was great, wasn't it? You were happy. What changed? What made you think, I have to kiss him, even though he has a girlfriend, even though the odds of him liking me back are so marginal, so - "

"We sparked, Charlie," Zeke cuts in, his head in a hand, the other rummaging in his coat pocket. "We had something, different, and I thought, I thought that he wanted it too."

From his pocket he pulls out the present that Virgil had given back, and passes it over.

"Would you give it to him?"

"You should - "

"Please, Charlie, I think I've done enough. Just give it to him and tell him it doesn't mean anything, that he can throw it out or give it away, it doesn't mean anything."

"It means everything," Charlie says in a sad voice, but he takes it, anyway, and he looks at Zeke like he's seeing him properly for the first time.

**.**

Virgil liked to stand on chairs and present people when they walked into a room. He liked to stick candy in soda and watch it explode and leave the mess for someone else to clean. When it was cold he walked around in a t-shirt to see the gooseflesh on his skin, and when it was hot he would sneak up behind Zeke and put ice under his collar.

Virgil talked too much when he was nervous, and talked too much when he wasn't. He listened to The Cure and Christina Aguilera and he bought pants too big so he could always wear a belt. He kissed Stephanie when he thought no-one was looking, because he hated seeing people in public and didn't want to be that kind of couple.

Virgil smelt like apples and Dr. Pepper and when his hair was wet he would slick it back and do an impression of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone that made Zeke laugh every time. He was terrible at Math, had straight As in English, and liked to stick 2B pencils up his nose and make stupid noises to embarrass Zeke.

There were so many things that Zeke would never forget, so many things he didn't know, and none of it mattered.

It was never enough.


End file.
